Darker Days
by NekyuToi
Summary: "It was June, the 30th. After driving hours in heavy snowfall, I finally reached my destination: the house of one Sherry Birkin, a key figure in the 'Raccoon City Incident' that occurred nearly 70 years ago. The interview of my career was about to begin."
1. Prologue

Darker Days

Chapter 1: Prologue

June 30th, 2066

_It had just stopped snowing, and I turned my head up to the skies; the dark clouds were scattered now, and the blue sky could be seen behind them. My aerocar suddenly coming to a stop outside a large mansion, I placed it in manual and attempted to park it. _

_Jumping down from my 'car (as I never did get the hang of vertical parking), I stood in front of the mansion where potentially my most famous interview could take place. The person I was interviewing was a key figure in the Racoon City Incident at the end of the 20__th__ century._

_I had never felt so lucky in my life when I received the call from headquarters detailing whom I would be interviewing: a woman by the name of Sherry Birkin. Ms. Birkin lived alone in an isolated mansion about twenty miles outside of Maryland, Baltimore. Although it was a pain to drive all the way there just to meet her- as she had refused to speak to me over the holophone (holographic phone)- it was worth it; this showcase material was sure to attract millions of readers to the e-mag for which I worked._

_Quickly rushing up to her front door, I stood still and waited for somebody to answer the door. After standing there for about five minutes however, I grew worried as nobody came to open it. Thinking that maybe her door sensor wasn't working, I banged on the door loudly. Half a minute later, I heard the door unlock, and Ms. Birkin herself popped out from the behind the door as it opened._

"_You must be Mr. *****." She said; her face was withered and morose. The expression she wore left nothing to the imagination: she must have had in instant dislike of me. Her voice held a distinct accent, not uncommon in the old; I couldn't place it, however._

"_Yes, that's right. Ms. Birkin, I presume? Thank you kindly for allowing such an interview to take place." I said, smiling awkwardly as she looked deeply into my eyes disapprovingly. I didn't wish to upset the old bag, so was determined to be as polite as possible._

"_Please follow me." She commanded quietly, as she led me through a large, dark hallway. The mansion was impressively decorated, with antique furniture lining the walls. A grandfather clock situated just below the staircase leading up to further darkened rooms ticked loudly as I passed by it; it was an old clock, and only counted up to twelve. I didn't see a single piece of electronic equipment as she led me through the house; I suddenly felt stupid for assuming she had a door sensor, which alerted the home-owner to any visitors._

"_Would you care for a cup of tea, Mr. *****?" she asked politely. I was about to refuse, eager to get to the interview stage, when she suddenly gestured to a tray with a teapot and cups set out upon it; she had obviously prepared for my arrival. _

_As she had gone to so much trouble, I certainly could not refuse now. "Why, I would love some." I lied, with a smile. She nodded her head curtly and sat down on an old-looking armchair which rocked back and forth as she placed her frail frame upon it. _

"_Please, sit down." She commanded, gesturing to a graceful, white leather sofa that sat adjacent to the large open windows. A shiver went down my spine as I drew close to it, a cold breeze cooling my face; I wondered why she would keep the window open on such a cold day._

"_Everybody wants to hear the story." She sighed, gazing out of the window at the now-blue skies._

"_The Raccoon City incident, right?" I asked. She said nothing as she turned to the tray on the coffee table in front of her and poured two cups of tea from it. Handing me one, I politely took it and sipped at it, placing it down on the table afterwards to allow it to cool. _

"_Yes." She finally replied, after drinking half of her cup. _

"_Well, it's a very popular story. Especially with today's obsession with biotech and whatnot." _

"_Yes; it is a shame what a story it has become; it has been dramatized remarkably. In fact, the last article I read, written by you Mr. *****, sounded more like fiction than reality." She said these words sharply, afterwards sipping at her tea again. I was at a loss for words; how could I reply to something like that?_

_Coughing into my hand to give me some time to compose myself, I looked deeply into her icy blue eyes. "I wrote my article based on fact, Ms. Birkin."_

"_Young man," she began, her voice patronising in tone, "I do believe that you are not so old as to have been in Raccoon City at the time of the outbreak. The previous articles you have written upon the matter read like sensationalist dribble, integrating sexed up rumour with the very bare bones of fact."_

_Picking up an e- reader that lay nearby, she stood up from her armchair and approached me, placing it in my hands. I took it from her and looked at the screen. _

_The e-reader was tuned to an article I had written myself regarding the incidents of Raccoon City. It was written in Germanic-Latino, the language all newspapers in the States were written in today. A combination of English, Spanish and other European tongues, it was a language I was still learning, so I had to have somebody from the office translate my work. I quickly skimmed through a little of what I had read out of politeness._

"… _κ__um ein peri__κι__e pou 'Leyon Kennedi', su nov__γ__noξfolk, era mor__τ__ por ein truκ fe__ρ__al, diri__γ__ed por ein se__κ__un__δ__ zombie sie __γ__no__ξ__ian…" (…with the fear that Leon Kennedy, her new acquaintance, was killed by a stray truck, driven by a second zombie they had met...)_

_The old woman wasn't wrong, it did read rather like a story. Placing it down beside me after having glanced through it, I turned my attention back on the old woman, who was pouring herself another cup of tea._

"_This is one of the main reasons why I have invited you here for this interview: so you can write an article with some credibility and to close the matter once and for all before I pass away."_

_I said nothing, wishing her to stop criticizing my journalistic skills and get to the point._

"_Therefore, if you are ready with your holowriter or whatever it is you use nowadays, listen to what I have to say intently." _

_Without a reply, I unbuttoned my jacket and took out a pocket holocorder which caught a three-dimensional image of its surroundings and allowed for dekaphonic sound (ten channels). This way, if the story I had written was ever rendered into a holocast (holographic broadcast), I could flesh it out a little with snippets from the interview. Perhaps I was getting a little ahead of myself, but it wasn't everyday one had the chance to interview such a key figure in the T-Virus incidents of the last century._

_With a sip of her tea, she began to recount the events that transpired so many years ago. _

"_It all began nearly 70 years ago…"_


	2. January 13th, 1996

Chapter 2: January 13th, 1996

"_I recall the early days of my youth with happiness. My parents, despite what you may have read- or written- in the papers, loved me very much; I didn't want or need for anything, which money could buy, at least. No, I was a content child, _almost."

Sitting in the backseat of my father's car, I shrunk in the seats from the darkness outside as we drove along the quiet countryside roads. My mother, who had awoken me earlier as I lay in my bed, had told me that we were going on a trip. Where we would be going at six o'clock in the morning on a Sunday, I did not know, but I was very excited. Excited not only for the trip (which was a rare occurrence in my household), but for the time I would be spending with them.

My father, William Birkin, who I understood to be the Chief Scientist of a pharmaceutical company named Umbrella Pharmaceutical, Inc., was not seen much in our household in the outskirts of Raccoon City. Neither was my mother, Anette, who worked alongside him. I had complained many times about their absence—the missed birthday parties, the Christmases I had spent only with the nanny. At the time I didn't realise how much stress I must have put upon my parents with my demands, and all it ever seemed to do was drive them further and further away; the days they worked became greater, the hours longer.

As we sped along the rickety countryside road, I jumped up and down on the backseat in time with the potholes and the other bumps to keep myself occupied; I was also afraid of the dark outside. I couldn't help but think what kind of monsters were hiding out there, just waiting to get me when I left the car.

"Sherry, settle down!" my father called from the front seat. He was visibly agitated about something; he chain-smoked a packet of Lucky Strikes that lay on the dashboard, and continuously ran his hands through his messy brown mop of a haircut. Even with a five o'clock shadow and a haggard look, he still looked handsome; my mother always joked about the other female scientists who worked at Umbrella, and how she would have to watch them carefully lest they "tried anything". In reality, she knew he loved only her.

"It's all right, dear." My mother said in a soothing tone. She had the most useful ability to manipulate my father whenever possible—such as when he became angry: she would delicately stroke his shoulder and mutter just a few soothing words to calm him down. It was an ability I sorely lacked, as anything _I _would say served only to infuriate my father more. Only last week an intense argument had followed one of my many complaints about being left with the nanny.

The nanny which was employed to look after me was one of the "benefits" of the Umbrella Corporation. She was an American woman from Texas, who was responsible for looking after the children of scientists who couldn't be there for them—God knows how she managed to look after _other_ children, as she was looking after _me _almost seven days a week. I rather suspect now that the nanny was also there to check up on the house, and report anything suspicious back to her employer; signs of disloyalty or other such threats to the company—I had caught her many times wandering around the house when she assumed I was asleep.

"Where we goin', anyway?" I asked, aggressively. I wasn't in a particularly bad mood that morning, in fact I was rather jolly to be spending the day with my parents – I didn't want _them _to know that, though; Christmas was just over, and I was still sore and resentful for having spent it with the nanny.

"Speak correctly, dear." My mother had replied, looking at me in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were sky blue, and the mascara she wore accentuated their beauty.

"God forbid, she's starting to sound like the nanny." My father muttered, not taking his eyes off the road; countryside roads like this one could be dangerous, especially at night. You never knew when a deer, or other animal, could jump out in the road, or even if there was simply a tree branch that had fallen onto it.

"I'm sorry." I said, sincerely. I didn't really want to upset them, especially so early on in the trip. "May you please tell me where we are going?" I asked, correctly, without a hint of sarcasm.

My mother turned back to me and smiled. Although she was wearing no make-up apart from mascara, she was so beautiful in the moonlight; I always hoped to be as beautiful as her one day. "You'll see, dear."

As she turned to face the road, I slumped back into my chair and folded my arms; it was getting colder. Burning with curiosity as to where we were going, I thought about anything my parents might have said or done which would reveal our secret destination. However, we hadn't brought anything with us—no picnic basket, no extra clothing, nothing! Just the clothes we wore, which were mainly thick winter coats and soft cardigans.

Now coming out of the trees, the countryside road opened up suddenly and I caught full sight of the moon; it was a full moon, bright and beautiful. I could see its reflection in a body of water far off in the distance; my mind suddenly turned to fishing. Just as I was about to jump forward and ask my parents if we were going to be catching fish all day, I saw it. In the distance, about a mile away and drawing ever closer, was a huge mansion that lay almost directly in front of us.

"Do you see that?" My father exclaimed, cigarette planted in his mouth. He pointed towards the large mansion. "_That _is where we are going: Arklay Mansion."


	3. Nightfall

Chapter 3

I couldn't help but stare in awe at the giant mansion as our car drove ever closer towards it. It loomed over the countryside like a giant monster, two bright lights coming from symmetrical windows on an upper floor resembling its eyes, and its giant doorway like a mouth. A million thoughts rushed through my mind as we reached the gatehouse that was situated about a quarter of a mile from the entrance. Astonished, I planted my face against the car window and examined the gatehouse; it was bigger than our home in Raccoon City!

A light suddenly came to life outside the front door of the gatehouse, and I could hear the ferocious sounds of dogs barking wildly. Rolling down the car window, my father waited patiently as a small, strange looking man stepped out from the gatehouse and approached our vehicle. Running alongside him were two Dobermans, their muzzles pulled back over their teeth which glimmered in the light of the dim bulb which hung outside the front door. I jumped back and let out a little shriek as one of them jumped up at the car window and started barking loudly.

"Down, Spence!" the small man shouted, as he motioned to hit it. The dog backed away and immediately kept quiet, lying down on the paved ground. As the man drew nearer, I could see that he was at least sixty, and almost completely blind; he squinted through the car window at my father and then pulled out a pair of old spectacles which he perched at the end of his crooked, veiny nose.

"Um," my father began, passing his lit cigarette to my mother, who crushed it out in the ashtray. "We're expected?"

"Name." the old man groaned flatly, letting out a few raspy coughs as he did so.

"Birkin."

"I.D."

Pulling out his wallet from his inside-coat pocket, my father quickly took out his identification card that showed he worked for Umbrella. Up close, you could see the chew marks where he had mistakenly let me hold it when I was a much younger. The old man said nothing as he pulled out a flashlight seemingly from nowhere and switched it on. Examining the I.D. card briefly, he suddenly turned the beam from the torch onto me, blinding me as I raised my arm to cover my eyes.

"The girl?" he asked, suspiciously, nodding his head towards me.

"Our daughter." My father replied, rather sharply; he was always protective of me, and certainly did not like this old man staring at me.

"Go through when the gate opens." The man coughed weakly, turning off the flashlight and turning back to return to the gatehouse. I assumed that he must have lived there, keeping an eye on who entered and left the mansion. Hailing his Dobermans, who were called Spence and Oz, they loyally obeyed his command and entered inside the gatehouse with him before he slammed the door shut.

Sighing deeply, my father revved the engine of the car; the gates swung open with an ear-piercing howl as the rusty hinges disagreed with them. After they had opened completely, the car slowly pushed forward toward the mansion. My heart was beating now, as I thought about what other weirdoes lay in wait for me.

"Don't worry, dear." My mother said, turning back to me; she obviously sensed my apprehension as the mansion grew bigger and bigger. "Just wait until you see inside, you'll fall in love with it."

"Are we moving here, mommy?" I asked, quietly.

"Heavens, no!" she replied, with a small laugh. "We _certainly _couldn't afford a place like this. Why, it must cost millions of dollars." My eyes widened with surprise, I couldn't even imagine that amount of money; all I got each day was two measly bucks as a sorry excuse for pocket money.

"Well, why are we here?" I asked again. My mother looked at my father, her eyes meeting his; they seemed to ask for permission to tell me why we had come so far to this dusty old mansion. At the corner of my eye I noticed my father's head nod slightly, and my mother turned back to face me.

"Well, sweetheart." She began, "We were going to tell you once we were inside the house and settled, but I suppose it wouldn't hurt to tell you now. You see, your father has had words with his boss recently, and they've both decided that it would be a good thing if he and I were to work here in the future."

My father remained quiet as he navigated the car towards the giant entrance doors of the mansion.

"You're going to work _here?" _I asked, amazed. "But don't you and daddy make pills that make headaches go away? Don't you need to work in one of those big white labs?"

_How naïve I was, back then._

"Yes, dear, but here it's…" she hesitated on her words, seemingly thinking of what to say next. Turning to my father again, her eyes pleaded for assistance; she always did that. Whenever I posed a tough or _personal _question to her, she would redirect me to my father.

"Sherry," my father called out, his voice confident and loud, "out here it's a lot more peaceful to work. It means less stress for both me and your mother, and we'll also be working closer to home."

My thoughts suddenly turned optimistic; my mother and father would be working near our house! Thinking more about it though, it wasn't _really _close, but beforehand they had been working all over the country for weeks at a time.

"That's right, dear. You'll be seeing more of us a lot more often, very soon." My mother smiled, winking at me. Turning back round, the car fell silent. I said nothing as my father cut the engine and beeped his horn.


End file.
